


Feelings are Tough: the Bucky Barnes Story

by notlucy



Series: The Brownstone in Brooklyn [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes-centric, Crying, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, F/M, Gentle!Dom Steve Rogers, Good BDSM Etiquette, M/M, Multi, Peggy Carter Lives, Spanking, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Sub Bucky Barnes, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 17:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11879418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/pseuds/notlucy
Summary: You can't always get what you want. But if you try communicating with your partner sometimes, you might find you get what you need.(Or: Bucky gets the spanking he's been waiting on for seventy-some odd years.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crockzilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crockzilla/gifts).



> This set of stories takes place in a universe where Peggy Carter is magically in the 21st century (read: a wizard did it), and she, Bucky and Steve have a healthy, polyamorous triad going on. (Well, healthy-ish. They like to repress a lot of feelings.) Peggy's not in this one much, since I wanted to focus on Steve and Bucky, but there are some OT3 dynamics at play near the beginning and the end.

Lately, Bucky wanted to be spanked. 

Not slapped, or kicked, or punched, or shocked, or tied down to a chair and...

Nope. None of that stuff. Not thinking about that stuff.

Just spanked. Preferably over Steve’s lap, and not because he’d done anything wrong, but just because he wanted it. Just because sometimes it was nice to be spanked. Because back before all of this, when it had just been Steve and Bucky and Steve had been smaller, and Bucky had been bigger, Steve had had no problem spanking him then. Spankings which he remembered with increasing clarity as the fog over his earliest memories receded more and more every day: Steve had worn newspapers in his shoes, and they’d both gotten their rocks off from Steve topping the shit out of his friend. Boyfriend. They weren’t exactly putting a lot of labels on things back then. 

But Steve didn’t like the idea of hitting Bucky anymore. Not after what he’d been through, he said. Peggy didn’t, either, but that was alright because Bucky didn’t especially want to be spanked by Peggy. Mostly because it was more fun to watch Steve get spanked by Peggy instead. (Especially when Peggy was mean to Steve and made him touch his toes and count while being so sweet to Bucky, giving him praise and kisses and plenty of positive reinforcement. Sometimes she let Bucky give her suggestions. Bucky liked that. Steve liked it, too, because otherwise, they wouldn’t be doing it.) 

Originally, the whole “not hitting Bucky” thing had been fine. Bucky appreciated that they were careful with him, and he also enjoyed the creativity being employed by both Steve and Peggy when they played, in finding other ways of satisfying his particular submissive proclivities. They were very creative people, as it turned out. 

But back to it: Bucky wanted that spanking, and he was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that he was going to have to communicate with Steve to get it.

He broached the topic on a Thursday, after dinner, when Peggy was out with Pepper and Steve was sketching. 

“So,” Bucky said, dropping onto the couch and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. “We gotta talk.” 

Steve’s pencil stilled, and he glanced over at Bucky with a bemused expression. It was the kind of face that Bucky pretty much adored when he was Little because it was a very ‘let’s indulge the small one’ expression. At that moment, however, it was the tiniest bit irritating.

“Oh yeah?” Steve prompted, undeterred by Bucky’s slight scowl. 

“Yeah.” He said, and if Steve was going to keep that damn expression on his face, then Bucky was just going to go for it. “I want to revisit the ‘no hitting Bucky’ rule. Specifically, the part where you don’t spank me anymore.”

The damn expression disappeared pretty quickly, replaced with shock that was quickly schooled into Steve’s Very Serious Face. “Buck…” he began, and Bucky raised a hand to stop him.

“No, hear me out,” he said quickly. “Number one, I want to. Number two, I’m not asking to be punished or hurt or whatever, I just want to get spanked, like before. Number three, it has to be you. Numbers four through infinity, I want to.” 

“Bucky…” Steve tried again, his face softening in that way it always did when Bucky shared a memory from before. But Bucky was on a roll, and he wasn’t going to let Steve derail the conversation by focusing on his recovered memories because that wasn’t the point of this particular talk. The three of them had worked through a myriad of issues over their time together, and healthy communication was high on the list of “Important Shit Steve, Peggy and Bucky are Really Really Terrible At.” Because a spy, a super soldier with a chip on his shoulder and an ex-brainwashed assassin were not exactly lining up to share their feelings. 

“No, Steve, shut up,” he insisted, holding a hand up again. “You’re gonna give me a million reasons why not, and then I’m gonna get mad, and we’ll fight, and I don’t want that either, so just listen. I think it’ll be good for me. I can explain why. But I’m not gonna drop it.” 

Steve’s mouth set into a thin line, and for a second Bucky was pretty sure he was going to be a punk and argue with him anyway. Steve was occasionally surprising, though, and after a moment he shrugged and relaxed, just a little. “Alright, Buck. Why?” 

Shit. Now he had to articulate it. He hated this part. “Uh…” he laughed, pushing a hand through his hair. “Because it’s...it’s about being taken care of?” Steve didn’t seem inclined to stop him, so he pressed on. “You taking me apart? I do remember what that’s like. When we used to do that. Or, at least, what it was like getting spanked by you. I don’t want it as a punishment because it’s not about that. It’s...I think it’ll be a release.” He shrugged, watching Steve’s reaction, which had softened even more, so Bucky knew he was winning. Kind of. He took the opportunity to press his advantage. “I watch, you know, when Peggy’s working you over and you’re always, you know, real relaxed by the end. I remember being that relaxed. With you. Shit, Steve, I just...I’m not asking for absolution or any of that stuff. I just want to remember what it’s like...to be that vulnerable with someone. With you.” 

He knew he was blushing, right to the tips of his ears. Sure, Winter Soldier, terror in the hearts of men. Blah blah blah. What would people think if they knew he couldn’t even ask his boyfriend for a spanking without turning fucking maroon?

And then Steve doesn’t say anything. For a while. Which was more than Bucky could deal with right at that moment. “Ah, forget it,” he mumbled, pushing up from the couch to possibly go die of embarrassment in his room. 

But then Steve’s fingers circled his wrist, gently, but with an insistence all the same. “Just hang on a second,” he said. “That’s a lot of information to process.” 

And Bucky knew it was. He knew that they agreed pretty firmly that Bucky didn’t want any physical corrections when they were negotiating all this shit and setting their limits (because people negotiated this shit now, checklists and everything, and now he knew what felching was. Thanks, Internet). But things changed, and he was pretty sure a checklist that they’d found on fetlife wasn’t a binding contract. 

“We haven’t done that since before the war,” he heard Steve saying, pulling him out of his head a little bit.

“Uh, yeah, I was there,” Bucky replied, because he could be a brat when Steve was obtuse. Steve gave him A Look, and Bucky grinned, some of the tension dissipating. “Look,” he said. “It’s not...can’t we just try? Isn’t that why we have safewords? I swear, I’ll stop you if it gets to be too much. I promise.”

Steve got quiet again, and Bucky felt like a live wire, waiting for his response. “We need to talk to Peggy first,” he said finally. 

Well, it wasn't a no.


	2. Chapter 2

Funnily enough, Peggy ended up the easier sell. She thought it was fine, agreed with Bucky about the safeword, and made plans to spend an evening with Natasha the following week. There had been a brief discussion of her attending the main event as a spectator, but they eventually agreed that this one was more of a Steve and Bucky thing. Her presence would be welcomed, however, at future occasions.

(For what it was worth, Bucky was pretty sure her final decision had been more for Steve’s benefit than for his, as the last thing Steve needed was Peggy appraising his spanking form when he was getting back into it after seventy years. Though the idea of Steve being punished for spanking Bucky badly was also very appealing and filed away in the ‘fantasies to be explored later’ folder in his mind.) 

Regardless of her non-presence for the actual scene, Peggy managed to push quite a few of Bucky’s buttons in the week leading up to it. Having to wait an entire week was a delicious kind of anticipatory torture on its own. He’d never be able to prove it, but he would swear that she was taking every damn opportunity she could to brush up against his backside as if reminding him what he signed up for. 

So then, it was Friday, and Peggy looked like a million bucks as she descended the stairs in a fitted red dress and heels. Apparently, she and Natasha were going to see a play, along with getting dinner and drinks. So it would be a while. 

“Enjoy yourself, darling,” she murmured into Bucky’s ear, a little smile playing across her face, before she pressed her lips against his lightly. She murmured something to Steve, too, on the way out, but she looked a little more serious about it. Steve mumbled something back, and Bucky fought the urge to roll his eyes. If he had to bet, he would bet one million dollars on the conversation being about him and his Issues-with-a-capital-I. 

The door shut behind her, and Steve moved over to turn the lock. “You hungry?” he asked, turning back to face the entryway. Bucky wasn't, not really, but he knew he should eat anyway, so he shrugged.

Steve was a lousy cook, but not so lousy that he couldn’t reheat the soup Bucky and Peggy had put together earlier in the week. They ate at the dining room table, because there were Rules about eating on the couch. Bucky barely tasted the soup, and as he finished he felt the air shift in the room, just a little bit. Doubly so when Steve leaned forward. Steve wasn’t a flashy top; he didn’t need to be, because when he wanted to be in charge, he just was. Effortlessly. (Even before the serum, he could get Bucky on his knees with a nod.) 

“I’d like you to clean up the kitchen and get the dishes done, Buck,” he said evenly. “Then come to my room.” He didn’t say anything else; didn’t need to. He just pushed back from the table and stood up, walking to the stairs that led up to his room on the third floor. 

(The thing about Steve’s room is that it’s actually their room. All three of theirs. And Bucky has his own room, too. For reasons. So with that context, calling it Steve’s room? It was a bit like being called on the carpet by an authority figure. And he knew this wasn’t a punishment, but it still sent that little thrill of fear into his stomach anyway.) 

To his credit, he did a good job with the kitchen. He got the dishes into the dishwasher, he wiped down the countertops, he even shone the sink. He never shone the sink, but right then: so shiny. 

He counted every stair on the way up, and he was pretty sure he was nervous, which was dumb, because he and Peggy and Steve had been doing this in some form for a while. Like, they were doing this before anybody got frozen. They were really fucking good at it. Tonight, though, it felt different. It was something from Before. Before the war, before the serum, before the ice. Before Peggy. They hadn’t done that, not really, and that thought stuck with Bucky as he pushed open the door to their (no: Steve’s) bedroom. 

Shit. Steve changed. He put on one of his stupid, sexy grandpa cardigans (thanks, Tony) and he had on pants that look really soft (and were probably going to feel really good when Bucky was across his lap and...nope, he was mindful; living in the moment). 

“Hey, Buck,” he said, and Bucky’s mouth went dry as he wondered what he was supposed to be doing, or if there was something Steve wanted. No, he had to stop overthinking. He had to remind himself that getting out of his head was the point of this: Steve was in charge, Bucky didn’t have to think about anything besides doing what Steve wanted. 

“Hi,” he managed finally, and Steve’s stupid cardigan and his stupid beard would be hitting every button in Bucky if he had a Daddy kink. But Bucky didn’t have a Daddy kink. He was pretty sure. Nope. (Better not to dwell on it.)

Bucky was sure Steve knew that his brain was going a million miles a minute, but Steve also had the grace not to say anything about it. “Come here, pal,” he offered instead, holding out a hand. Bucky took it, grateful, stepping into Steve’s embrace and hugging him tightly. His mind quieted somewhat, just from that, and he found it easy to tuck his head under Steve’s chin and enjoy being held for a moment. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how long Steve kept him like that, because sometimes Bucky lost time in scenes. Plus, Steve was just really, really good at taking care of Bucky. 

Eventually, though, Steve sat down on the bed, separating from Bucky just enough that he could look up at him while moving his hands to grasp Bucky’s, holding him in place. “Why are you here, Buck?” he asked, and oh, Bucky squirmed. He hated that question. Hated knowing he has to answer it. 

“Needagetspanked,” he mumbled after a moment, and he knew the moment it was out of his mouth that Steve was going to press the issue. 

“What’s that?” Steve asked, and damn him for it. Bucky was most definitely going to help Peggy devise some interesting new predicaments for Steve after this was all said and done. 

“Need to get spanked, Sir,” he repeated with the honorific, articulating it a little bit more that time, though still not able to meet Steve’s eyes. 

“I know,” Steve replied quietly, and those two words sent a flood of something like relief through Bucky’s body, tempered only by another little flutter of fear and anticipation as Steve gently guided him into position over his lap. They’d never been able to do that before, not properly. Steve had been small, and Bucky had been big, and the physics of it hadn’t worked out quite the way they wanted them to. So he’d been spanked while bending over chairs or tables, using the furniture for support instead of his boyfriend. Bucky hadn’t been an idiot; he knew it had bothered Steve at the time, but he wouldn’t have ever actually said something about it. Steve Rogers’ pride was something you just didn’t bring up unless you were itching for a fight. So it was never like this. Never the intimacy of this, feeling the taut muscles of Steve’s thighs pressing against his torso as he was arranged. Steve was careful, of course, and while Bucky wouldn’t go so far as to call it a comfortable position, nothing hurt. 

He jumped a little as he felt Steve’s hand come to rest lightly on his ass, and he might have made some smart ass joke about getting on with it if Steve hadn’t chosen that moment to murmur quietly, “such a good boy.” 

Well, fuck. 

Steve started gently, as if gauging his own strength with every smack. Bucky still had on two layers of clothing, and Steve was warming him up almost impossibly slowly. Part of him knew, too, that Steve was worried it might trigger something in Bucky; some repressed trauma that would end in tears (and not the fun kind). But Bucky didn’t see how it could, not really. When he’d been the Asset, corrections had been cold, impersonal and horrifically severe. This wasn’t that. This was warm, and safe, and wonderful, and (at least so far) it was exceeding his fantasies and memories spectacularly.

Soon enough Bucky started squirming, more with pleasure than anything else. It didn’t hurt yet, but he felt himself drifting a little bit, all the same. It wasn’t subspace (again: thanks, the Internet, apparently there was a name for everything now), but it wasn’t far off, either. He was jolted out of it, though, when Steve slowed the spanks and eventually stopped, resting his hand on the small of Bucky’s back instead. “Alright,” he said. “Stand up a minute, Buck.” 

Bucky whined, he couldn’t help it. It had been so nice, over Steve’s lap, and the idea of moving at all just didn’t sound that appealing. The noise made Steve laugh, and he gave Bucky another little swat - a warning swat, if Bucky was being honest - which had him reluctantly getting to his feet. 

“Brat,” Steve teased, reaching out to pull the tie on Bucky’s comfy pants. “You want these down or off completely?” 

“Uh, off,” he replied, shrugging, continuing to speak as Steve helped him undress. “I’d like to retain like...twenty-three percent of my dignity and not have to waddle like a duck when we’re done.” 

“It’s cute that you think that’s what makes you dignified, Buck,” Steve smirked, “shirt, too.” Bucky complied, pulling the sweatshirt and the t-shirt he’d been wearing over his head and tossing them next to his pants, leaving him clad in just his boxers. Steve said nothing, just raised an eyebrow as he looked down at the crumpled clothing on the floor. Right, Bucky realized. Rules are rules, and they had a very specific rule about respecting clothes. So, in the interest of said rule, he picked up the bundle, folding the clothing carefully and bringing it over to one of the armchairs in the corner, grumbling about dignity the whole way. 

“When you’ve quite finished,” Steve laughed, holding a hand out, which was such a Peggy thing to say that it made Bucky laugh, too. Oh, he realized. Steve was giving him a break, relaxing him, reminding him that they were supposed to be having fun. Because Steve knew what he needed, not just what Bucky thought he wanted.

Fuck, Bucky loved him. 

“Right-o, Agent Carter-o,” Bucky replied, mock-saluting before getting turned unceremoniously ass-over-teakettle onto Steve’s lap again. Yup, he liked that a lot. He’d loved Steve when he was small, but there were some definite manhandling-related perks to the serum.

The second round wasn’t as gentle, and what had been warmth soon turned into a stinging heat that had Bucky squirming in discomfort. Steve was good - his hands were big enough that he could cover a lot of surface area with one smack, but he wasn’t content to just hit Bucky indiscriminately. Oh no, Steve Rogers was a fucking artist, and for someone who hadn’t spanked his boyfriend in seventy-some years, he’d certainly remembered a few things. Or he’d been practicing with Peggy. 

The rhythm was never consistent, the speed and the severity varied, and Bucky couldn’t anticipate where the next blow was gonna land. Eventually, he started releasing keening little whimpers into the bedspread and yup, he was hard, rutting against Steve’s leg with every spank. So much for dignity. He’d just about hit that sweet spot again, though, where he was still present, but the floaty cloud of subspace wasn’t far away, either. 

“Look how pretty you are,” Steve murmured. “Lift your hips a little, Buck, that’s a good boy.” Bucky complied without protest, letting Steve slip his shorts down to his knees, the cool air of the room hitting his warmed skin and making him shiver. He was thrilled Steve hadn't made him stand up for that part; he wasn’t sure his legs could have held him. 

Steve paused for a moment, and Bucky sighed contentedly as his boyfriend’s fingers trailed over his pinked up skin. “You’re doing great, pal,” Steve said, rubbing the sensitive flesh lightly. “This part’s gonna hurt, but you know your safewords?” 

“Unh,” Bucky agreed. “Greenyellowred. Green now. More, please, Sir?” 

“Yeah,” Steve laughed, “alright. But if you’re gonna come, you gotta tell me, and I’ll decide if you can or not.” 

Bucky nodded, agreeing immediately because talking was hard. Steve started up again without any real warning, and oh, it hurt. It was everything, all at once. It got to be almost too much, but Steve knew, and he could bring Bucky back from that edge with softness and sweetness, building up to the intensity that had tears pricking his eyes. Eventually, Bucky was one hundred and ten percent fucking gone, lost to that floaty place where the pain didn’t matter because everything was too good. He still felt everything, though, and his whole body was on fire. He was crying now, he knew, his yelps and sobs coming in time with the insistent tattoo Steve was playing on his ass. He was also becoming increasingly aware of the pressure building, low in his belly, as he rubbed himself off against Steve’s leg in desperation. “Please, please, please…” he whined. 

“Please what, Bucky?” Steve asked, punctuating the question with five alternating slaps to each cheek, just enough out of syncopation to bring Bucky sufficiently back into his head to answer the question. 

“Please, can I come, Sir, please?” he begged, and surely Steve wouldn’t be so cruel as to deny him? 

“Ten more,” Steve replied after what seems like twenty fucking years of waiting. “If you can take ten more, I’ll let you come and give you a treat. Can you do that, good boy?” 

Bucky whined, his dignity rapidly falling to zero point three percent as he had what could only be described as a tantrum, kicking his feet and sobbing. Steve, damn him, waited patiently, his hand resting on Bucky’s back to keep him in place. 

The thing of it was, Bucky was mostly a very good boy, even if he could be a brat sometimes. So, after a moment, he nodded. “Yes, Sir, I’ll be good,” he promised, catching his breath. It was a hard fucking promise to keep when Steve made sure that every one of the first nine stung like hell, and Bucky was yowling by the end. (At least Steve hadn't made him count them out loud. Small mercies.)

“Last one, Buck, then you’ll get your treat,” Steve soothed, rubbing small circles into Bucky’s back with his free hand. Bucky relaxed, just a little, and Steve (damn him) took the opportunity to land the tenth blow. Bucky yelped, but before he could fully process the pain of the smack, Steve picked him up and lay him out on the mattress. And then, oh Jesus, Steve’s mouth was on his cock and Bucky came apart almost instantly, his head spinning as Steve swallowed every drop. 

At least, he was pretty sure Steve swallowed every drop, though the next thing he was aware of was being held tightly against Steve’s chest. He wasn’t quite back in his head yet, but he knew he was warm and safe, and taken care of. Except…

“Itchy,” he complained, shifting his weight a little to make eye contact with Steve. 

“Hmm?” Steve replied, looking pretty blissed out himself, all things considered. 

“Itchy,” Bucky reiterated, pulling at the sleeve of the sexy grandpa cardigan, which had been fine in theory but was not so fine when one was pressed right up against the wool. 

“Oh,” Steve realized, laughing a little and sitting up to pull it off, along with his t-shirt, before pulling Bucky back into his arms. “Sorry, pal.” 

“S’okay,” Bucky mumbled, his eyelids drooping. “Love you.” 

“Love you, too,” came the reply. 

Sleep came easily, which wasn’t always the case for Bucky. Steve was really good at aftercare, though, and he woke Bucky up after a little while to get him to drink some water and some juice, before letting him fall asleep again. Bucky wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he next stirred, roused by the sound of the bedroom door opening and shutting. That meant Peggy was home. Steve was still up, because the light was still on and Bucky’s head was on his lap, which meant Steve was probably reading. He could smell the familiar scent of Peggy’s perfume as she crossed the room to give Steve a quick kiss before starting to undress, and he was just going to pretend to be asleep for their conversation. He had his reasons. 

“Hi,” Steve greeted, and Bucky could hear the smile in his voice. “Good night?” 

“Hi,” Peggy replied, and he heard the sound of her earrings coming to rest in the tray on the dresser. “Terrible play, excellent company. How’d it go here?” 

“Good, I think,” Steve said. “He seemed happy, but he was pretty far under by the end. We can talk in the morning. But he was...perfect. Amazing. As usual.” 

Bucky thrilled a little; he could practically hear the smile in Steve’s voice, and it made him so happy that he’d made Steve happy. 

“Mmm,” Peggy replied, a smile coloring her tone as well, and Bucky heard the zip on her dress start to slide down. “He’s awake, you know.” She sounded amused, and Bucky’s eyes popped open in surprise. How did she always know?! “Don’t look so shocked, James,” she teased. “You were preening like the cat who got the cream.” 

Bucky resisted the urge to make a joke about cream, because he was an adult. He shrugged instead, looking up at Steve, who laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Cute. You want more water?” 

Bucky did, and he wanted to cuddle for a while. And show off his backside to Peggy, who seemed very impressed with the shade of red Steve had managed. She even offered to let Bucky use her hand mirror to see it for himself. 

Later, after Peggy had drifted off, Bucky was just about asleep as well when Steve’s voice cut through the silence of the dark room. 

“Hey, Bucky?” 

“Uh huh?” 

“Did you...did it work, was it what you wanted?” 

“Yeah, Steve. It was perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm happy to take suggestions if you're interested in particular things in this universe. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Particular kinks or suggestions you'd like to see? Leave them in the comments - I'll try almost anything once! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


End file.
